“Now, sighing is something I do pretty often. But not a lot of people know why?
Maybe it’s because I can’t show any form of public weakness
Maybe it’s how society has made the script for the male side of humanity.
Maybe it’s a shield I picked up, and forgot how to put down.
But I’ll be honest—
It’s hard to sit every day and be reprimanded for things you didn’t do.
It’s hard to apologize for using a curse word to drive home a point because they’d call you incompetent. Only for you to be looked at as insane.
It’s hard to be the bigger person when no one else even tries to be of equal size, when most to all would rather crawl.
It’s hard to wake up at 3 A.M. at sixteen, replaying the moment you let someone walk over you.
It’s hard to stand frozen in the shower at eighteen, convinced you don’t deserve a good life.
It’s hard to be branded an idiot by a world that systematically chips away at you, all because humanity’s tolerance runs dry.
And now—
even my sigh,
my last free breath,
my last scrap of unclaimed territory—
is under siege.
The siege of suffering in silence.
The siege of cynicism leaking into my bones.
Every exhale is a warning–
Every breath is another unsent letter–
Every pause between words–
is a scream I can’t afford to release.
Why? Because the sigh is silently loud, the only thing/word I have.
My last weapon.
My last protest.
The one thing that still says—
“FUCK YOU.”
So…
when I sigh,
understand—
I am defending this last bastion.
And if you still think it’s just a sigh—
you weren’t listening.”